


Land of Night

by JessicaEBoswell



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Original work - Freeform, also available on tumblr, fantasy web fiction, web fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 13:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaEBoswell/pseuds/JessicaEBoswell
Summary: In a land where no stars shine and no natural light exists, secrets lurk and work their magic in the shadows. It is a normal occurrence for the citizens who go about their business beneath the dark veil, but there is one secret, the most vital of them all that is yet to be discovered, a secret that only the bravest of adventurers and scholars pursue: What is the world made of?





	1. Nightfall

 

The streets of Nightfall were unnaturally quiet, even the foxes and the alley cats that stalked the streets during the late hours looking for scraps had abandoned them, the unusual silence that encompassed the empty roads unsettling the few citizens unfortunate enough to be travelling down them. Laughing and the occasional breaking of glass echoed from the taverns, shadows flickering in the windows as the occupants within wandered past the candles, and from a library, an old mage stepped out into the cold, open air, clutching an oversized tome in his wrinkled hands. He looked around at the emptiness and dashed towards his modest home on top of the hill, hoping to avoid the thieves and drunkards prowling the notorious city.

A hooded figure stalked the eerily quiet streets of the capital, the light cast by the streetlamps shrinking in her presence and allowing her shadow to grow, but she paid no heed to them. She rather liked being feared, especially by the light.

A tavern door swung open abruptly, creaking on its hinges and impacting on the wall with a low thud. A broad man stumbled backwards into the middle of the street and lost his balance, cursing loudly and filling the quiet area with his booming voice as he hit the ground. “You’re only annoyed because you lost, Trun,” he yelled, pointing accusingly back into the tavern where the man in question stood, his scowl illuminated by the candles and gas lamps. “You always were a sore loser!”

Profanities shot through the door and seconds later it was slammed shut, the drunk in the street grumbling under his breath and getting to his feet. He swayed as he staggered, placing one foot down in front of the other carefully in an attempt to stay upright, but his caution didn’t get him far, and upon reaching the pavement he missed the step and stumbled over himself. He would have hit the floor if it weren’t for the strong hands that reached out to grab him, preventing him from toppling over again.

“Thank you, sir,” he slurred, still remembering his manners in spite of his intoxicated state and trying to find a face beneath the dark hood that seemed to be looking directly at him.

“You are welcome,” the cloaked woman said, her voice as soft as silk. “But I am no sir.” She smiled sweetly from beneath the darkness of her hood and steadied the man before she continued on her way, the cloak around her swirling in the light breeze and the hem lifting to avoid the brunt of the dirt and grime lining the cobbles.  

Overhead, a raven squawked and took flight, flying low over the city’s buildings and following the woman as she travelled, landing and taking to the air again until she had reached her journeys end.

Once the woman had descended the steps down to the canal and hidden herself amongst the shadows, he landed on the railing with a quick flap of his large wings and shook his head, screeching at the top of his lungs and letting his shrill voice echo around the tunnel before he did it again.

“Corvus,” the woman hissed, stepping out from the gloom and approaching the midnight black bird. “Will you be quiet?”

The raven titled his head and cawed again, earning himself an unimpressed glare as he began to skitter across the metal bars that separated the treacherous waters and the walkway beneath the bridge. With a tilt of his head he considered the woman, watching her lower her hood, his beady eyes falling across her dark hair that was draped over one shoulder, and her tanned skin that caught the reflection of the artificial light skimming over the surface of the canal water.

The woman let out a short breath and stuck her hand into the drawstring pouch on her belt, retrieving a red berry from within. “Fine,” she sighed, throwing it to the bird and watching as he caught it in his beak, gulping it down and cawing in his excitement. “Now shut up.”

 The raven swallowed the last morsel of the sweet fruit and skittered across the railing, coming to a halt once he’d reached the bars limit and peering out into the never-ending night. There wasn’t much to see; a drunken straggler muttering to himself as he attempted to catch up with his friends, the odd disturbance of water as a fish got too close to the surface, and then, from around the corner of the dimly lit street, a man dressed in light blue finery, heading straight for the canal bridge.

Corvus cawed and scampered back across the railing, squawking at his mistress again until she waved her hand for him to be quiet.

“All right, Corvus,” she said sternly. “I know. I can sense him.” The woman loosened the daggers she’d concealed on her belt and watched the opening at the other end of the short tunnel with unblinking eyes.

A man appeared, his blue silk cloak catching the light reflecting off the water momentarily before the darkness consumed the colour. “I didn’t know whether you were going to turn up, Lynetta,” he said, an air of authority about him as he confidently strode towards the woman and halted just a few paces from her. He eyed the raven cautiously, but once it remained still he paid it no further heed. “I’m glad to see that I was wrong.”

“I’m here to collect my payment, Adran,” Lynetta replied, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I not turn up?”

“Because you assassins are tricky,” Adran told her, riffling through the inside pocket of his cape and producing eight silver coins. “I take it Lord Harold didn’t cause too much of a fuss.”

“He didn’t even know I was there, at least not until I wanted him too and by that time it was too late.” Lynetta took the proffered coins and placed them safely in the purse hanging from her belt. “I was also able to get you this.” The assassin retrieved a piece of parchment from her cape, rolled and secured with the seal of the Astronomers, a notorious bunch of sky watchers who liked to peddle nonsense about other worlds and celestial lights. “But it will cost you extra,” she said, pulling the parchment away when Adran tried to reach for it, his eyes aglow with fascination and desire.

The man grumbled under his breath and handed over a further two silver coins, all but snatching the document from her the moment she moved to give it to him.

“I don’t know why you want such nonsense,” Lynetta laughed, shaking her head in amusement and pocketing the coins. “Lord Harold was a fool to believe in it, and so are you. There’s no such thing as space, or planets, or celestial beings that glow in the sky.”

“There is so much out there,” Adran insisted, his eyes lighting up and a blissful smile appearing on his lips, “more than we know, more than we could ever dream of.”

“Yes, lots and lots of darkness,” Lynetta said sternly, growing tired of hearing of strange things that didn’t exist. People would believe all sorts of foolish things if the right person said it, and unfortunately these Astronomers were quite influential, their network spreading across the realm and growing by the day. “There is nothing you can say to convince me otherwise, and if you had an ounce of intelligence about you, you’d close your ears to such talk. You dreamers are only wasting your time in thinking that there’s anything out there.”

Adran heaved a sigh; he heard it every day in the streets, the citizens of the realm disputing what the Astronomers said, deeming them trouble rousers and foolish men, but he believed in them, heart and soul. He believed in stars, and planets, and moons, he believed in them with every inch of his being. The only problem was they couldn’t see them, and so it was easy to dismiss their existence. But he was determined to support the Astronomers as much as he could, and see that the truth was known all over the land, from Nightfall all the way to Terith. “There is more to our world than meets the eye,” he said, “and I will find a way to prove it.”


	2. Three Questions

The young Prince Jaedred ran as fast as his legs would carry him, sharp thorns and overhanging thistles catching his face and arms as he bolted past them in his haste to escape. It wouldn’t be long before they found him missing and came after him, and they wouldn’t stop until he was dead, but he hoped to get as far away from the kingdom as he could before they discovered he was gone.

The forest was much darker now that he’d breached the outskirts, the gloom and the mist disorientating him, but he carried on regardless, determined to put as much distance between himself and his home as he could. If only his father hadn’t gone against tradition, if only he’d named one of his older sisters as his heir as he was supposed to, then he wouldn’t be in such a horrid situation. But his father hadn’t chosen one of them, he’d chosen Jaedred, his youngest child, his only son, dismissing his other three children entirely. His sisters had been furious, shouting at the king even as he lay dying and demanding that he chose one of them to rule, but the king had refused, and upon his death the three princesses had made it their duty to rid themselves of anyone who dared to stand between them and their throne, even if that just so happened to be their younger brother.

_I must keep going,_ Jaedred told himself as he begun to grow weary, his legs aching terribly and his breathing becoming ragged. He knew it was only a matter of time before he collapsed, but he was determined to get as far away from the imminent threat to his life as he could before that happened.

The further he travelled into the forest, the more lost he became, the path vanishing beneath his feet and his foreboding surroundings bewildering him. In the past, when he’d had to traverse the forest, he’d been escorted by scores of guards and more often than not his father, who all knew where they were going, but now he was alone and he didn’t know where he was; for all he knew he was going in circles, heading back to the city where all that awaited him was death.

He arrived in a clearing, his legs giving way and his body slumping to the ground. His knees hit the grass first, followed by his palms, the rocks that hid in the undergrowth and wet dirt cutting his delicate skin. He desperately tried to move, reaching out feebly for something stable to hold onto, only to collapse even further towards the ground. His breathing became wheezed, exhausted pants escaping his lips and his limbs shaking from the strain. _I can’t do it,_ he thought dejectedly, his heart thumping so hard that he could feel it all over his body. _I can’t go any further._

As he struggled, he began to consider lying down and going to sleep, letting his sisters find him, letting death take him, but he didn’t have long to contemplate the thought as a dark shadow shifted over his quivering form and a disgruntled snort echoed above him.

Jaedred’s body instantly tensed and his racing mind screeched to a halt. Tentatively he looked up, his eyes skimming a pair of flat feet with yellowing nails, grey-green legs covered in scars and bumps, a rounded belly, and two muscled arms. His gaze finally fell upon a gnarled, unpleasant face, a curved tooth sticking out from a pair of thin lips, a crooked nose twisted slightly to the left, and two black, beady eyes watching him.

The prince instantly scrambled backwards, ignoring the painful protest of his limbs as he suddenly jolted away from the beast. “What are you?” he breathed when the creature didn’t move, its penetrative glare making him feel uncomfortable.

“I’m a troll,” the strange being replied. “Do you not know a troll when you see one?”

Jaedred shook his head timidly, his unblinking gaze never leaving the creature. “I can’t say I do,” he admitted. “I’ve never met one before.” A thought suddenly crossed his mind, a thought that oddly enough, settled his mind a little: why wasn’t the monster attacking? In all of the stories he’d been told as a child, monsters attacked first and asked questions later, but this one seemed to be far more intelligent than that.

“Clearly,” the troll said, looking the prince up and down and padding his way across the clearing. He sat himself down on a flat rock, the ground beneath him quaking as he collapsed into the seat. “I’m also guessing you’ve never been through this part of the forest before.”

“How do you know?” Jaedred questioned, narrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Because if you had, you’d have met me. I guard the Pass.”

“The Pass?”

“Yes, the Pass.”

“What’s the Pass?”

“What’s the Pass?” the troll laughed, holding onto his rounded stomach as he chortled in his amusement. “My boy, you’re in it.”

“And you guard it?” Jaedred relaxed a little since the troll was showing no signs of malice, if anything he seemed rather friendly, but he still remained wary, refusing to let his guard down just yet.

The troll nodded. “I do. The land to the north is protected. I can’t just let anybody through. You could be dangerous for all I know, and I can’t have you disturbing the peace.”

Jaedred sat back, stretching out his legs and contemplating the matter. He wasn’t scared anymore, if anything he just felt confused, and for a moment he wondered whether the troll was merely a figment of his imagination, the stress, and the panic, and the exhaustion beginning to get to him. But he looked like a real being and he sounded like one too, so after a little thought he came to the relieving conclusion that he wasn’t going mad after all. He really was staring at a troll. “But I must continue on my way,” the prince insisted, getting to his feet and swaying, his legs protesting. “I’m in terrible danger. My sisters are trying to kill me and if I don’t keep moving they’ll catch me.”

“I know who you are, Prince Jaedred, news from all over the land finds a way of reaching me,” the troll assured him, waving away his concerns with a limp hand, “and I know of the situation you speak. But you may be on your way, so long as you can answer three of my questions. Only then may you enter the north.”

“All right,” Jaedred said, nodding in agreement to the terms. “Ask me.”

The troll stood up, the light cast from the torch in his hand shifting and making him look much more intimidating than he actually was. “Fine then, young prince,” he said, tilting his head at the boy and watching him closely. “Which two towns does the Edrin River flow between?”

_Easy,_ Jaedred thought with a smile. “Godlin Hill and Terith,” he answered without hesitation, his grin growing when the troll nodded in confirmation.

“Correct. And which goddess planted all the trees?”

_Another easy one,_ the prince thought to himself. “That would be Elwyn, the first tree sprite.”

The troll nodded again. “Good,” he commended. “Your final question.”

By this point Jaedred was rather confident in himself, certain that whatever the troll asked, he’d be able to answer, especially if it was as easy as the first two questions. But there was something about the troll’s grin, something that unsettled him, and he began to wonder whether this was all some horrid trick. He glanced around, but there wasn’t much to see apart from the silhouettes of distant trees and the flickering flame of the torch.

“What is our world made of?” the troll asked, leaning forwards and watching young Jaedred with unblinking eyes.

The prince’s confident smile instantly dropped and he took a small step back, pondering on the question. He began to wonder what would happen to him if he couldn’t answer or gave the wrong response. For all he knew, the troll would kill him, raise one of his strong legs and crush him beneath his flat foot. A nauseating feeling washed over him, the thought that he’d just run from one danger and straight into another making him panic.

_No,_ he told himself sternly. _You can’t die here. You must get to the north. Now think._

He recalled his mother once telling him that their world was made of glass, that they were encased in some sort of orb and that there really was such a thing as celestial lights and other worlds, but she’d been deemed mad, locked away until she’d died. But maybe she was right? Maybe their world really was made of glass?

Jaedred swallowed and took in a deep breath, hoping he was right. “The world is made of some sort of glass, a dark glass,” he replied. “I don’t know what it’s called, my mother never told me. I’m not even sure if she was certain of its name herself.”

The troll bowed his head, his grin spreading and his lips stretching over his singular tusk. “That’s a good enough answer,” he told the prince. “The name you’re looking for is obsidian glass.” He raised his head and looked down at the small boy, standing back and gesturing past him to the realm beyond the forest. “Now, be on your way, young prince,” he said. “Keep heading through the forest and you will reach the northern realm. You’ll be safe there.”

“Thank you,” Jaedred said as he tentatively made his way past the troll, passing beneath an archway created by some overhanging branches and wondering whether they’d been there before. He turned around to ask the troll a little more about the strange glass their world was made of, but when he peered back over his shoulder to feed his curiosity, the tall creature was gone, the light from the torch he’d been carrying gone with him.

With a sigh Prince Jaedred turned his attention back to the path ahead of him, and abandoning the place he’d once called home, he ventured on into the northern realm.


	3. The Witches Coven

 

Gwyneth held her hand up to the pitch black sky, her fingers reaching up and shifting across the darkness. She imagined them skimming the surface of a dark lake, the water rippling at her touch and creating circles of disturbances. But that would never happen and she knew it, for she was in possession of the truth, as were her other twelve sisters. The sky wasn’t a blackened lake or something that she could reach out and touch; it was just darkness, an expanse of nothingness shielding them from the rest of the universe and preventing them from seeing the pretty lights in the sky that she so longed to see.

“You spend too much time daydreaming, Gwyneth,” a voice echoed behind her, as sweet as sugar and as soft as silk.

Gwyneth didn’t need to turn around to see who it was, she’d sensed her sister’s presence the moment she’d stepped onto the grassy slope. “But I like daydreaming, Indigo,” she explained to the purple witch. “I like to let my mind wander, to see beyond the veil of the night, as if with a simple touch I could break the glass encasing our world and see the stars for myself.”

Indigo exhaled lightly and sat herself down by the youngest witch in the coven, her legs dangling over the edge of the cliff and her eyes finding the dark expanse above them. “One day we may, but for now we must cast our eyes to the ground.” She pointed to the path leading up to their dark castle, a riderless horse galloping across the gravel and keeping to the indents in the ground as it bolted towards the hill.

Gwyneth was instantly on her feet, the starless night forgotten about as she ran down the steady incline and rounded the corner into the courtyard. She lifted the hem of her dress to keep herself from falling over it and hurried towards the horse, grabbing hold of the reins and stopping it in its tracks.

The creature whinnied and kicked out at her, but she dodged each frantic kick and held up her hand, a spell igniting on her palm. In an instant the horse calmed, returning to its four hooves and shaking its mane as it composed itself.

Indigo jogged down the last length of the incline and rushed over to Gwyneth and the horse, her purple robes billowing around her as she ran. 

“I wonder where he came from,” Gwyneth pondered aloud, keeping the spell stable and soothing the worried creature’s mind.

“I don’t know,” Indigo admitted, her eyes shifting to a frantic figure running towards them. “But I think we’re about to find out.”

The sisters stepped back as a small man skidded to a halt before the horse and took hold of the reins, shaking his head and tutting in disapproval. “I wish you wouldn’t run away from me like that, Skipper. You’re not to do that again.” He suddenly realised that there were two people watching him and stumbled back a few paces, clutching onto the horse’s reins and staring wide-eyed at the witches. He swallowed thickly and regained himself, bowing his head as he neared them. “Lady Gwyneth, Lady Indigo,” he said courteously, his voice shaking and his eyes drifting from the red witch to the purple one.

“There is no need to be afraid,” Indigo assured the man, stepping into the light of the torches positioned around the courtyard so that he could see her properly and offering him a gentle smile. “Your horse is quite spirited.”

“He is, my lady,” the man chuckled nervously. “Skipper always has been the more jumpy of the bunch, but he’s quick.”

Indigo’s smile grew and she halted just before the man, tilting her head at him curiously. “I’m sure now you have him again you’ll be on your way.”

“Actually, I was on my way here to see you when Skipper bolted.”

The purple witch raised an eyebrow and nodded for the man to proceed. He removed his hat and bowed his head humbly, and it was clear for her to see that something was troubling him. “Who are you, and what is it you require from us?” she asked kindly.

“I’m Alban, I work on the farm at the bottom of the hill,” the man explained, pointing in the general direction of his home. “My wife is terribly ill. I think it might be the Arachnid’s Fever. She was tending to the roses a few days ago and she was bitten by one of the blighters. She didn’t think anything of it but now it’s making her ill. The physicians are refusing to treat her, I don’t know what else to do.” Alban hung his head, his shoulders slumping forwards and his grip on Skipper’s reins loosening. “She’s all I have.”

Indigo nodded in understanding and gestured for Gwyneth to get the horse, waiting until she’d secured the creature’s bonds around a stable post before she led Alban inside the castle. “Fear not,” she told him. “I’m sure we have something that will help her.”

“Should I get the others?” Gwyneth inquired, catching up to the older woman and matching her pace as they walked.

“No need, sister dearest,” Indigo replied, glancing down at the red witch. “I’m sure we can handle a simple arachnid potion.”

Gwyneth bowed her head and placed her hands behind her back as they made their way towards the potions lab. She’d walked those halls so many times over the past year, learnt so much within the walls of the castle and grown a little taller too. She didn’t think she’d ever become tired of it. It had an entrancing beauty about it, an elegance that she hoped she could one day live up to.

The trio arrived in the potions laboratory and the two sisters immediately got to work, grabbing various containers and glasses bearing strange substances.

“The blue one, Gwyneth,” Indigo said, pointing to a shelf full of phials as she began to prepare the concoction. A flame spluttered from beneath the small cauldron on the work surface, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. “Oh, and the spiders legs. But be careful. Remember what happened last time.”

“That wasn’t entirely my fault,” Gwyneth said in her defence, crossing the room with the rest of the ingredients in her grasp. She placed them down beside Indigo and retrieved a knife from a draw beneath the surface, beginning to chop up various flowers and small spider’s legs.

Alban watched, entranced by their graceful movements as they prepared the potion that would save his wife. They seemed to move with a fluidity that he’d never seen before, the magic that they instilled into the cauldron slipping elegantly from their fingers as they threw in the rest of the ingredients.

As he observed, a reflection on the furthest shelf caught his attention, and unable to resist he wandered over to it, leaving the witches to their work while he sated his curiosity.

The shelf was full of strange black gems, all looking as if they’d been ripped from their placings instead of carefully removed. Some were only small, barely the size of his fist, but others were much bigger, easily able to crush a person should they fall from a considerable height. They almost seemed to sing to him, their glimmer carrying a sweet voice, and he reached out to touch one of them, just to skim his fingertips over the cold surface to see what it felt like.

“I wouldn’t touch those if I were you,” Indigo warned, making sure that Alban had moved away from the shelf before she continued with her work. “You’ll get an awful shock if you do.”

“What are they?” the farmer asked, his eyes drawn to the strange black rocks as if they were holding him in a trance. _Maybe they are,_ he thought to himself, but he quickly shook the notion out of his head; it was ludicrous. Such a thing was not possible.

“That, my dear Alban, is obsidian glass,” the purple witch replied, carefully tipping the completed potion into a small phial and handing it to him. “It is what our world is made of.”


	4. Mountain of Flame

“You’re mad. You’ve gone completely and utterly mad, Xander. Do you know how insane you sound?” Erred crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at his oldest friend, a friend who at that particular moment in time was beginning to irk him. He heaved a sigh and sat back against the bench, watching the townsfolk go about their business.

“I’m not mad,” Xander insisted. “I saw it, a pillar of flame rose into the air and shot through the clouds. I swear.”

Erred sighed, shaking his head disdainfully. “It’s a volcano,” he reasoned. “What do you expect it to do? Dance and sing a jolly tune?”

“It’s not a volcano, it’s just a normal mountain. The flame is caused by dragons.” Xander could see that he was getting nowhere in speaking to Erred about this, but nobody else would listen to him. The villagers thought that he was mad, and now even his best friend was beginning to think he’d gone insane. “There was no magma in the flames,” he sighed in an attempt to explain himself. “It was just pure fire. I’m pretty sure volcanos don’t do that.”

“I’m also sure that dragons don’t exist,” Erred told him sharply, trying not to get too annoyed at him. Xander was a dreamer, he always had been and he’d come to the conclusion that he always would be, but his babbling nonsense and insistence that there was more to their world than darkness was starting to irritate him.

He stood and turned on his heels to face him, letting out a long, tired breath and running his hand through his fair hair. “I know you’ve dreamt of dragons and wizards since you were little, but it’s time to let those dreams go. You’re doing yourself no favours by believing in things that don’t, and never will, exist.” He felt guilty for putting it so bluntly, for being so abrupt about something that had meant a lot to Xander for a very long time, but he was worried that if he didn’t stop now then he’d live a life where nobody believed a word he said, where he’d grow old alone and be deemed senile and mad. It wasn’t a life for anyone, especially not in a village that prided itself on its normality. “What I mean is, if dragons really did exist, they certainly wouldn’t be here? There’s nothing in the village they can steal, no gold or jewels, and there’s no food they can eat.” He pointed up to the tall mountain looming over them, the silhouette of the peak only just visible above the thin veil of clouds. “That is a volcano. Not a dragon’s nest, not a wizard’s hideout, a volcano.”

Xander bowed his head in defeat, tears in his eyes and shame washing over him. Maybe Erred was right? Maybe the mountain was just a volcano and he really was going mad? But there was a way to prove it. He could climb the mountain and see for himself what was up there. If it was just a volcano as everyone believed then he would return to the village and speak no more of mystical beasts and sorcery, but if there really were dragons, or even the slightest hint of magic… “Maybe you’re right,” he said, his voice small and quiet. “Maybe it’s time I grew up.” He got out of his seat, making his way across the square and refusing to look back.

“Xander, I didn’t mean that!” Erred called, running after him and hoping he’d give him the opportunity to explain himself, but it was no use. He turned the corner onto the main street and Xander was nowhere to be seen amongst the bustle of life that occupied the cobbled road.

Erred ran his hand through his light hair for the second time that morning and grunted in annoyance, kicking aimlessly at a pebble and watching it skitter across the ground while he pondered on his predicament.

Xander hid in a small gap between two houses and peered around the wall, watching as his only friend turned back and disappeared around the corner. _I’ll prove once and for all that there are dragons in that mountain,_ he thought to himself as he slipped beneath the awning of a shop and began to run towards the outskirts. _I’ll show them all that they were wrong to call me mad._

He didn’t have much trouble in getting to the outer edge of the village, the townsfolk giving him a wide berth as he bolted past, not wishing to catch any madness he had, and within the hour he’d reached the base of the mountain. He looked up at it in wonder, spotting the peak through the shifting clouds, and without so much as a glance back at his hometown he began to climb.

The journey was perilous, and he lost his footing many times, almost tumbling down onto sharp protruding rocks and falling to his death, but he remained determined, refusing to stop for anything. He would prove that there was such thing as dragons, that this mountain was magic, not volcanic, and he wouldn’t give in until he’d found the truth.

He didn’t know what it was that drew him to the place. It was more than just a childhood dream; it was a feeling, an instinct buried deep within him, a desire that he couldn’t sate no matter how hard he tried.

For hours he climbed, and as time drew on he begun to grow weary, his lack of preparation beginning to take its toll. There was no water up there, nothing he could eat or drink, and the growing warmth was starting to weary him.

Just as he was about to collapse, to give up and begin his journey home, an orb of flame shot into the sky, the ball disappearing into the darkness above and exploding into hundreds of tiny white lights. The illumination skimmed his awe-struck features before the shadow of the eternal night dawned again, and with as much strength and energy as he could muster, he headed towards the source of the glow.

Once he’d carefully navigated his way up the incline and towards the peak, passing through the boundaries of the clouds, he looked down into the biggest crater he’d ever seen, the clearing in the rock spanning for miles. It looked empty and desolate, and he began to wonder whether he’d imagined it all, the flames, the spark in the sky, all of it. But then he saw a moving figure just a steadily declining slope away from where he was crouching.

He ducked further down behind the rock, peering over the edge of the crater and watching as the silhouette moved. His eyes went wide when it raised its head and sent another ball of fire spiralling into the sky, the exploding light exposing the creature.

He was huge, a giant of a beast with white scales, four strong legs covered in muscle, and silver tipped wings that he stretched out as he opened his mouth again and spat another ball of flame.

Xander could see his sharp teeth reflecting the light as he created more orbs of fire, the creature roaring loudly and breathing out a stream of flame across the clearing.

All of a sudden the beast stopped, the land around them going dark again, and he turned his head towards the slope, almost looking directly at the spot where Xander was hiding. He sniffed at the air and detected each scent, turning his head this way and that until he was certain.

“I know you’re there,” he growled, stalking the ground beneath the raised rock, his clawed feet making pocks in the dark grit.

For a moment Xander considered running, of making a desperate attempt to flee, but he knew that with just one swoop of the creature’s wings he’d be caught. He wasn’t quick enough to escape, and so the only option left to him was to face the dragon.

Swallowing down as much of his fear as he could, he stood up and abandoned his hiding place, standing on the edge of the precipice and gazing down at the magnificent creature.

“I’m… I…. I uh…” Xander took in a deep breath, his whole body shaking and tears stinging his eyes. He was going to die here, his body never to be found. He’d simply disappear from the world as if he’d never existed in the first place. The dragon would eat him, or squash him, or burn him alive, and that would be that. Gone forever, concealing the truth about the mountain of flame.

“Don’t worry,” the dragon chuckled. “I do not wish to harm you. Unless you wish to harm me, in which case I should advise you not to. I am a dragon after all, and you but a small man.” The dragon tilted his head and took a few steps up the incline, holding out his huge clawed hand to Xander. “Now, why don’t you come down here and we can talk in a much more civil manner.”

Xander didn’t know what to do, but knowing that the dragon didn’t intend to kill him, at least for the time being, eased his mind a little. He reached out, his fingers skimming the dragon’s rough, calloused skin, and settled himself on his palm.

He was lifted down the slope with ease and gently placed at the base of it, the dirt beneath his feet crunching as they met the ground.

“Now, why don’t you tell me who you are?” the dragon suggested, taking a few steps back from the intruder.

“I’m… I’m Xander,” the terrified man squeaked, stumbling over his words and staring up at the massive creature with unblinking eyes. 

“Well, young Xander, I am Cadrenith, Lord of the Glass,” the dragon told him proudly, his low voice echoing around the empty expanse of grit and rock. “You must have come from the village.”

Xander nodded. “I have.”

“And why would a man such as yourself come all the way up here? The people below think this mountain a volcano, do they not?”

“They do,” Xander replied, “but ever since I was a child I’ve known it wasn’t. I believed there to be dragons up here.”

“Not dragons, I’m afraid,” Cadrenith admitted, heaving a sigh that disturbed the thin spread of gravel beneath him. “Only me.”

Xander narrowed his eyebrows, his pounding heart settling now that he was still alive and actually speaking to the dragon instead of being mauled or eaten. “Only you? Are there no other dragons left?”

“Oh there are plenty of dragons, but most of them reside in the south where it’s much warmer.”

“So why are you here?”

“To protect you of course,” Cadrenith chuckled, “and your village.”

“But why would the village need protecting?” Xander questioned, sitting himself down in the dirt to take the pressure off his aching legs. “It’s boring, and it’s dull, and there are no threats to us.”

“Not that you are aware of.”

Xander opened his mouth to speak, but his words fell short and died on his lips, and instead he let his confused look convey his bewilderment at the dragon’s statement.

Cadrenith let out a short laugh and moved to sit beside the young man, his tail coiling behind him and his large feet pressing indents into the ground as he moved. “You see, Xander, beneath your village is the biggest known accumulation of obsidian glass known to this world. The villagers may not know it, people for miles around may not know it, but your little town holds a lot of power, power that could be used by bad people to do bad things.”

“Obsidian glass?” Xander said, shaking his head. He’d heard the phrase before from an old shopkeeper, but he’d long since gone missing and nobody else knew anything about it. “What’s obsidian glass?”

“My dear boy, it’s what our world is made of,” the dragon laughed, his amused roar disturbing the calm air. “Have you never wondered why it is always so dark?”

Xander nodded and looked up at Cadrenith, his eyebrows narrowed in thought. “I just assumed it was the way our world was built,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders, “but I did wonder whether there was any natural light.”

“Oh there is, lots and lots of it, but we can’t see it because of…” Cadrenith let out a short breath and pointed upwards. “Well because of the obsidian glass. It’s everywhere you see, darker than the eternal night and full of unnatural power.”

Xander listened in fascination, his mind racing. Things were slowly beginning to make sense, pieces of a very large puzzle clicking into place and revealing more of the world around him. All his life he’d known that there was more to the world, secrets that hid in the shadows and wondrous things just waiting to be discovered, and he felt like some of his questions were finally being answered.

“Your village hasn’t been attacked because of me,” Cadrenith explained. “I have been here since its birth over eight-hundred years ago, and I will be here for the next eight-hundred years, protecting it until a time comes that the truth has been revealed and the villagers can protect themselves.”

“If I go back now, I can tell them,” Xander said excitedly, all but jumping to his feet and grinning from ear to ear as he brushed the dirt from his trousers. “They can defend themselves and then you can join your kin in the south.”

“If only it was so simple,” Cadrenith breathed, hanging his head in sorrow. “Unfortunately your people are not ready, and will not be for a very long time.” He could see the disappointment in the young man’s face, that spark of hope fading from his eyes as he looked back down at the ground. “But I feel that you have a different destiny, a separate path to follow, young Xander. There is dragon blood in you.”

Xander tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t climb up here to discover dragons, did you?” Cadrenith questioned. “Not really. You were following your heart, treading the path written deep within you. You were following more than a dream.”

“I suppose I was,” Xander replied, thinking about it a little before coming to the conclusion that the dragon was probably right. He couldn’t explain the feeling, there were no words for it, but to him it was a need, no, a duty, to himself and to greater things to come.

Cadrenith smiled, his razor sharp teeth showing through his thin lips. “What would you say if I asked you to stay here as my apprentice? I have been looking for someone to help me with my work, and you seem like just the man.”

Xander stared at the dragon, his mouth agape and his racing thoughts suddenly skidding to a halt as he tried to comprehend what the dragon was asking of him.

“You would be well fed, clothed, and given a place to sleep and rest,” Cadrenith assured him, standing up and stretching his strong legs. “I would also teach you how to fight, and unlock a power within yourself that you never realised you had.”

“I’d be protecting the village too?” Xander asked.

Cadrenith nodded. “Yes, Xander, you would.”

The young man from the small town, with no family left and a friend who thought him mad, took a step back and looked down at the silhouetted village below. There was nothing left for him there, he didn’t have anything or anyone, but up here he could do wonderful things; he could protect the villagers and safeguard a large reserve of power, keeping it from the grasp of evil.

It all sounded very heroic when he thought about it in such a way, but was it him? Was it who he was supposed to be? Was this where his destiny truly lay? _Yes,_ his mind screamed, so loudly that he thought someone had actually spoken. _This is where you belong._ “I could stay here?”

The dragon gave him a firm nod and a kind smile.

“I wouldn’t be harmed?”

“Not so long as I was looking after you.”

“And I’d learn how to fight too?”

“And much, much more,” Cadrenith promised. “The dragon blood you bear will teach you many things that I cannot.”

Xander took in a deep breath and nodded as confidently as he could manage, his mind set and his decision made. “Then I accept,” he said, smiling and watching as Cadrenith bowed his head.

“Would you like to return to your village to sort out your affairs?”

He thought for a moment; there was nothing of value he wanted to bring with him, but there was the matter of Erred. Should he tell him what he’d discovered? Should he tell him about his new life, about his new venture? Or was it best for Erred to think that he’d gone missing, to let him get on with his life without burdening him with what he’d learnt?

“No,” he decided, shaking his head. “I think it would be best if everyone thought I’d just gone missing.”

Cadrenith nodded in understanding and gestured to a small castle cut from the rock on the other side of the crater. “Then rest, young Xander. Your lessons will start in the morning.”


	5. Guardian of Night

The tavern bustled with life as regular patrons and newcomers alike celebrated the Festival of Eventide, most of them having been celebrating since the early afternoon. It came as no surprise to the townsfolk, the festival often brought the jolliest types to the capital, and it was inevitable that most of those people were going to toast the festivities with multiple glasses of wine during the celebrations and oversized tankards of ale in the tavern once the jubilation had died down. It happened every year, without fail, the streets littered with inebriated folk as they stumbled back to an inn or their homes, but some would never reach home.

A happy time it may have been, but in the shadows lingered murderers and thieves, anticipating the next drunk to come along. It was all a game to them, could the thieves steal from the drunk before the murderers got them, or could the murderers there before the thieves laid a finger on them?

One said murderer had decided to take the night off, the annual game of thievery and slaughter having become tedious to him, and so he made his way down the main street of Nightfall and entered the nearest tavern.

He mostly went unseen, those within the cosy four walls far too busy drinking until they couldn’t see straight and partying the night away to notice him, but those who did spot him didn’t stare for long, their eyes ghosting over the familiar scar running down his cheek and their gazes instantly shifting to the tables.

The man approached the bar and nodded to the landlord, receiving a large tankard of ale. He placed a bronze coin down on the work surface, the tiny metal piece quickly snatched away and safely put in the pouch on the tavern owner’s belt.

“Didn’t think I’d see you in here, Devrin,” the stout tavern owner said, leaning against the bar. “Thought you’d be out with the rest of them. Didn’t the thieves beat you last year?”

“I have no time for games, Galter,” Devrin replied, taking a sip of the frothy ale and wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “I’m on duty.”

“Didn’t know murderers had duties.”

“This one does.”

Galter laughed, the amused snort coming directly from his stomach and exploding on his lips. “You do make me laugh.”

“I’m glad I amuse you,” Devrin sighed, looking around at the room before turning back to the landlord. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the place so busy.”

“It’s the festival,” Galter said, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging his shoulders. “And the knowledge that if they stay out there after hours they’ll either be pickpocketed or butchered.”

“Or both,” Devrin reminded him, raising his tankard and taking another mouthful of the sweet brew, the taste of honey lingering on his tongue. “Last year only two people got out alive. It was a close call.”

Galter chuckled under his breath and shook his head, accustomed to their antics after years of serving them. A lot of his regular patrons were assassins, or murderers, or thieves, but he didn’t mind them. They may have been criminals and they may have had more blood on their hands than they were willing to admit, but they were loyal, and whenever he’d had trouble in the past they’d come straight to his aid, removing the problem and ensuring that he and his tavern remained safe, so he entertained them willingly.

“I won’t keep you,” Devrin said, nodding towards a raucous rabble of people that came stumbling through the door.

He gave the landlord a half-hearted salute and found a seat at the back of the tavern, slipping into an unoccupied booth and nursing his drink. Loud bellows and laughter echoed around the vast room, multiple conversations going on all at once, and ensuring that nobody was watching him he placed the tankard down on the table and sat back in his seat, closing his eyes and focusing on the voices around him. Most of it was nonsense, drunken slurring and strange words that didn’t make any sense, but then, from the other side of the room, came a hushed voice.

Devrin sat up in his seat, keeping his attention focused on the foreign man by the tavern window, speaking privately to another man who swayed uneasily in his seat.

“That’s funny,” the drunk said, pointing in the foreigner’s general direction and narrowly missing his mark, “but there’s no such thing. Stars don’t-” The man put his hand on his chest, rubbing it until he belched, and then continued. “Stars don’t exist. It’s just something-” Hiccup. “Just something made up by a load of lunatics.”

“I’ve seen them,” the foreigner told him. “There are places in this world where they can be seen, where the veil of darkness above us has broken, I swear. If you ever go to the west, stand on the fields of Breanin. You may get a glimpse.”

“All I’ll glimpse is a load of cow shit, Osnar,” the drunken man insisted, getting out of his seat and giving the foreigner a dismayed look before he staggered back to the bar for another drink.

Devrin watched the outsider closely; he was a man from the west, Terith by the looks of him, his pale skin and his blond hair unmissable in the sea of dark-haired folk around him.

The murderer kept his eye on him throughout the night, watching as he spoke to the locals, often of stars and a bright blue sky, but very few entertained the idea, dismissing his words as nonsense with a flick of their hand and an unimpressed look.

It was lucky really, since Devrin didn’t want to have to murder everyone in the tavern. He wasn’t a murderer by choice, nor did he do it as a full-time job; it was more of a hobby, something to pass the time between protecting the people of Nightfall from the truth and eradicating anybody who wished to expose it.

As the night progressed, Osnar became more and more intoxicated until he was up on the tables declaring his love for the stars and the true night sky. He was booed and heckled, and with a disappointed grunt he jumped down from the table and left the tavern in defeat.

Devrin took that as his cue to leave, slipping out of the booth and hastily following after the man of Terith.

Osnar didn’t get very far, his stumbling form zig-zagging down the street, easy bait for anybody, and it wasn’t long before he became the next target for the game of thievery and slaughter.

Devrin caught sight of a thief in the shadows and the masses of murderers bolting from the opposite street, but Devrin was quicker than all of them, dashing down the cobbled road and grabbing hold of the outsider. He pushed him against the wall of the tailor’s shop and held him steady as he wriggled in his unrelenting grasp.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Osnar demanded, feebly scratching at the calloused hand clutching onto him. “Get off me.”

Devrin ignored his words and pitiful attempts to squirm free, holding a blade up to his throat and staring at him with darkened eyes. “There is no such things as stars,” he snarled at him. “There is no such thing as natural light, or a daytime with blue skies. Your words are false.”

Before the first thief could get to him, he sunk the edge of the blade into Osnar’s neck and dragged it across his throat, the man from Terith spluttering blood all over his shirt as his life quickly slipped away from him.

Devrin let his lifeless body slump to the cobbles, wiping his knife on a rag of fabric attached to his belt and looking up at the pickpocket as he skidded to a halt. “Better luck next time,” the murderer said with a satisfied grin, leaving the thief to kick the wall in frustration as he made his way home. His job for the night was done.


	6. A Dream of Stars

From the moment Ava had been born, in a darkened alleyway surrounded by the refuse and waste of Nightfall, she’d dreamt of the stars. She’d seen them every night when she closed her eyes, those delicate, twinkling lights that spread across the darkness of the sky, and yet when she woke up, she’d turn her gaze to the emptiness above and wonder if there really was such a thing as stars, or whether her dreams had been tormenting her.

At an early age Ava had had to learn to fend for herself, her mother dying when she was only five years old and no other family to look after her, but regardless of her solitude she’d never felt alone; the spirit of the stars was always with her, guiding her through every aspect of her life and leading her to where she needed to be.

On the evening of the ninth light of the month, she ventured down the streets of Nightfall accompanied by a young astronomer. The town was slowly beginning to shift from its respectful state to a place of drunken slurs and occasional attacks, and so the pair kept to the lesser known areas to avoid the brunt of the intoxicated population.

“This could be the breakthrough we’ve been looking for,” Vincent enthused, speaking quietly as the two hurried towards the forest on the outskirts of the city. “Are you sure it was the lake you saw in your dreams?”

Ava nodded, looking up at the handsome man and trying not to blush. “I’m certain,” she assured him, her eyes meeting his for a moment before she looked away, unable to look at him without smiling. They’d been working together for years, ever since she was eight years old, and in the eleven years that had passed since that fateful evening their friendship and their bond had grown. “The wood nymph in my dreams told me that the secrets we seek lie at the lake. But she did urge caution. She told me that creatures lay in the depths, creatures that can breathe underwater and on land, and if we’re not careful we’ll be captured by them.”

“That’s a load of nonsense,” Vincent chuckled, shaking his head in refusal to believe that such a thing. “I’m sure this wood nymph of yours was mistaken.”

“She wasn’t,” Ava insisted, narrowing her eyebrows in thought. “Oh, what did she call them?” She clicked her fingers a few times as she pondered, wracking her memory for the name and smiling upon recollection. “Mermaids. She called them mermaids.”

Vincent laughed, but not cruelly; he laughed like a man who clearly didn’t believe what he was hearing and never would. Ava had heard it many times from the people they told about their research. Some were rude, insulting them and calling them horrid names, but most simply laughed and kindly told them to give up on such a nonsensical venture.

“It’s true,” she told him defensively. “She’s a very wise woman, and we’d do well to listen to her.”

The astronomer glanced down at the young woman, seeing the truth of it sparkling in her eyes, but more than that he saw how beautiful she had become; gone was her girlish face and her innocent looks, for she was a woman now, strong and true.

He quickly realised that his cheeks were colouring, his skin tingling and becoming warm, and so he looked away before he said something he probably shouldn’t.  “Well then, we’ll just have to see, won’t we,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her and getting a confident smile in response.

The pair journeyed into the late hours, the music from the taverns and the shouts of drunkards rising into the air and slowly fading as they crossed the borders of the forest.

“There,” Ava whispered, pointing between a smattering of trees at the blue glow radiating from the Lake of Stars. “Look.” Her curiosity got the better of her and she ran towards the bank, her eyes skimming the pure water and the reflections it cast on the clearing around her. She’d never seen anything like it, so beautiful and so pure, and a breath hitched in her throat as she spotted a silver dot on the surface. “Vincent,” she said, turning to the man as he bolted into the clearing and halted in his tracks. She gestured for him to join her, a smile spreading across her lips. “I can see a star.”

The astronomer slowly approached the expanse of water, peering over it cautiously and spotting the glowing dot on the surface. Another appeared close by, and then another, and another, until the lake was almost full of them, each individual in their own way and magnificent to behold.

As his eyes skimmed the illuminations, a large white orb appeared, much bigger than the delicate dots of the stars, and he could hardly believe what he was seeing.

“What is that?” Ava breathed, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on the large circle of light. It was almost too bright to look at, her eyes beginning to ache if she looked at it for too long.

“That, my dear Ava, is a moon,” Vincent replied, his voice no more than a whisper. “They’re satellites, large, spherical rocks that orbit planets and contribute to its gravity.”

Ava gave a small nod in understanding and turned her attention back to the lake, watching as Vincent crouched down by the bank and skimmed his fingers over the surface, the water rippling beneath his touch. The illuminations shifted and swayed, eventually calming again when there were no further disturbances.

“They’re brilliant,” he laughed lightly, the glow settling in his eyes. “They’re absolutely wonderful.”

Ava smiled with him and took a step forwards, but as she moved the reflection of the stars and the bright moon vanished, fading into nothing until all that remained was the water, completely clear of any imperfections. “Where did they go?” she asked, narrowing her eyebrows in confusion, but Vincent didn’t seem to be listening, ignoring her in favour of plunging his hand into the lake in a desperate attempt to get the image back.

“No,” he stressed. “No, come back, please.”

It was no use; the stars weren’t coming back, no matter how hard he tried. He turned to Ava and noticed the sorrowful look in her eyes. He could see that there was nothing she could do, her expression one of shame and her eyes downcast as he turned back to the lake.

But he wasn’t going to give up so easily, he couldn’t, and in a desperate attempt to return the reflection he grabbed a handful of small pebbles from around the bank and began throwing them into the water, watching them sink beneath the depths with a splash.

Once all of the rocks had been thrown and the lake still remained starless, he knelt down, closing his eyes and holding his arm out, as if he could simply summon back what he’d seen.

Ava watched him in fascination as he squeezed his eyes shut and muttered under his breath, the land around them remaining unnaturally still. And then she saw it, a tiny light, and at first she thought that the stars had returned, but then it grew, bigger and bigger until she could make out a pair of eyes, a nose, a mouth… “Vincent!” she screamed, but too late. The half-human creature had sprung from the water, grabbing hold of the astronomer’s outstretched wrist and dragging him into the depths.

She watched in horror as bubbles rose and popped on the surface, waiting and hoping he’d emerge, but he never resurfaced, the blisters on the water bursting until there was nothing but calm and quiet.

When Vincent didn’t show any signs of freeing himself from the vicious mermaid, Ava removed her cloak and kicked off her shoes, and stood by the edge of the lake. With a deep breath in and a final encouraging thought, she jumped into the freezing water, her body reacting to the cold before she was allowed move again.

She opened her eyes as much as she dared, squinting to see the empty expanse of water around her. The amount of space held within the lake was daunting, and it seemed to her that it was much bigger than it looked, the aerial view they got on the surface incredibly misleading.

She couldn’t see much as the water stung her eyes, but regardless of the pain she swam on in a desperate search for Vincent. _Where is he?_ she thought to herself, stopping for a moment to look around in hope of finding some sort of clue. She knew that it wouldn’t be long before he drowned, and so with that thought spurring her on, she began to move through the water again.

As she swam a little deeper her lungs began to ache, begging her for air, and looking back up at the surface of the water she decided to give herself a moment to catch her breath before she continued with her search, but as she swam back up to the open air, a vice-like grip wound itself around her ankle began wrenching her down again.

In panic, Ava kicked out at the grasp that held her, looking down into the depths of the lake and seeing the twisted face of a mermaid. _No,_ she thought as she struggled. _Please, no._

Bubbles of air escaped her lips as she struggled against the mermaid’s unnaturally strong grip, reaching down and trying to remove the hand around her ankle. It was no use; she was quickly losing consciousness, her strength abandoning, and it would only be a matter of seconds before the darkness swallowed her whole.

As her vision began to fade, the deathly embrace of the dark abyss closing in, she noticed a shadow moving amongst the green-blue of the water. It approached at speed, darting towards her and attacking the mermaid attempting to drown her. The form quickly vanquished the creature and neared her, winding its arm around her waist and dragging her towards the surface.

Ava wasn’t aware of much other than the feeling of weightlessness as she drifted closer and closer to the sweet fresh air above, and then all of a sudden a cold breeze hit her and she was thrown onto the bank of the lake, coughing out the water that had found its way into her lungs. Her clothes clung to her skin and the freezing air made her shiver, and in a desperate attempt to get warm again she sat up and brought her knees to her chest.

“Here.”

The gentle voice was accompanied by a blanket around her shoulders, the delicate fabric not looking like much, but it instantly began to warm her up.

She turned her attention to the figure standing beside her, gazing into the yellow eyes of a wood nymph, her nut-brown skin and twig-like hair catching the mysterious glow of the lake.

“You are Ava, I believe,” the creature of the forest said, tilting her head and watching the young woman carefully.

“Yes,” Ava replied, nodding her head in confirmation as she shivered, her teeth almost chattering. “I am. And you’re the wood nymph I’ve seen in my dreams.”

The nymph nodded and chuckled lightly, her laugh sounding like wind chimes caught by a gentle spring breeze. “Indeed I am. I would tell you my name, but it is far too complex for your kind to pronounce. Know me merely as your guide.”

Ava gave a small nod in reply, but in truth she didn’t really understand. “Where is Vincent?” she asked as the wood nymph helped her too her feet, wrapping the blanket securely around her shoulders to keep the cold from pinching at her skin. “Did you find him?”

“Your companion? I’m afraid he’s dead. The mermaids got to him before I could help him.”

Ava opened her mouth to speak but words failed her, a burst of grief surging through her body and making her feel unsteady. Luckily the nymph still had a tight hold of her and stopped her from falling to the ground, supporting her until she could remain standing by herself.

“I am sorry for your loss,” the nymph said, “but do not let his death be in vain. Let it drive you to the truth.”

“Is that why you brought me here?” Ava challenged, her grief momentarily getting the better of her. “To kill Vincent and give me a martyr?”

The wood nymph shook her head. “No, I did not. I brought you here to show you the lake and to tell you that the truth you seek lies not on the land below, but in the sky.” She gestured at the darkness above with a long finger, her thin lips growing into a sweet smile.

Ava turned her attention to the sky, her eyes skimming the vast expanse of nothingness. What was really up there? Was it just as people said, were the stars just a story, or was there more to it? And if they really did exist, what was stopping the vision in the lake from becoming a reality? “Okay,” she said, swallowing down the lump in her throat and turning her gaze back to the nymph. “Tell me what I need to do.”


	7. Vision of Hope

The elven clans of the south were always at war with each other, declaring the bloodiest of battles over the slightest of insults and sending threats over trivial matters that any other civilised people would resolve without resorting to such drastic measures. But the elves were stubborn and arrogant, and so their battles through the ages continued, never ceasing, never allowing a time of peace, and never relenting.  

General Draeos belonged to the Elves of Niva, one of the largest clans known to the land. Their realm was rich in fine silks and jewels, but their warriors were some of the most fearsome. Trained from birth to react quickly and fight, these elves were lethal, killing without mercy and the more victorious of the clans.

He stood on the cliff that hung over the battlefield, watching the enemy as they congregated on the other side of the plains, ranks and scores of them preparing for the battle ahead.

“Do you think they know they’re about to get slaughtered?” Verath asked, stood beside the elven general as they surveyed the area that would soon become host to a slaughter.

“Probably not,” Draeos replied. “Their generals are more than likely giving them a big speech about how they’re to be brave and strong, and how they will be victorious.” The elf let out a small laugh, shaking his head in amusement and holding his head high. “It’ll be over before they know it.”

Verath chuckled with his leader, crossing his arms over the chest and nodding in agreement. “Well, if they do insist on insulting us then they will have to learn the hard way that the Niva are not to be crossed.”

“They’ll never learn,” Draeos told him matter-of-factly, “at least not until all of them are dead and their clan but a name in the history books.”

The general’s right-hand man sighed, watching the array of enemy soldiers begin to arrange themselves, the vanguard lining up close to the cavalry. “Shouldn’t we get going?” he asked. “We don’t want them breaching the river.”

Draeos shook his head, completely calm in the face of the impending battle. “We’re quite safe here,” he assured him, counting down the minutes as the enemy clan began to advance on them.

Their cavalry was swift, the vanguard advancing just as quickly. They thought that they were going to be able to take Draeos’s camp unawares, convinced that the darkness would hide them until it was too late for the Niva to react, but Draeos was not a complacent elf; he planned, and he planned meticulously, right down to the last detail. The scouting party had brought back the news that the enemy clan was nearing the river, and since then the elven general had been plotting their demise, spending days contemplating maps and arranging his soldiers.

All of a sudden a loud bang shot through the entrance of the valley, a spray of water and dirt flying into the air as his schemes began to play out. Countless other explosions sounded, one after the other, running down the length of the river and destroying a large part of the enemy army.

“Now we move,” Draeos said, grabbing the reins of his horse and hoisting himself into the saddle, Verath following close behind on his own steed.

They sped through the empty camp and stopped as they reached the Niva army, slowing down their horses and making their way to the front of the troops.

“They call us murderers,” Draeos shouted as he advanced through the ranks of soldiers. “They threaten us, take our children, and revile our way of life. It’s time to reduce their name to dust, to exterminate their clan and ensure that nobody ever threatens the Niva again.”

The army erupted into a chorus of cheers and applause, battle cries escaping their lips as they beat their shields and lifted their swords.

Draeos and Verath halted at the front of the congregation, the general raising his sword into the air, and once the time was upon them he gave the command to advance, leading his faithful soldiers into battle.

The general and his captain split as they surrounded the enemy, closing in once one rank was dead and getting to work in slaughtering the next.

The attacking soldiers didn’t have a chance, the Niva far too skilled in battle for them to have claimed victory, and towards the end of the battle more and more began to flee, taking off into the nearby forest in hope of staying alive for another night. It wouldn’t help them; nothing could save them now, not even hope.

Draeos smiled in his victory, halting his horse and breathing in the crisp, clean air, his eyes cast on the treeline. As he looked ahead he noticed something in the sky, his eyes flying to the tiny silver light. There were no cities nearby, no clan buildings that reached that high and no device or craft able to reach such a height, and as he focused on the strange apparition he realised that there was nothing holding it aloft. People spoke of lights in the sky, of nights filled with millions of tiny illuminations, but he didn’t believe any of them, at least not until that moment. Was that really what they claimed to be a star, or was it something else, a reflection or a trick?

He didn’t have time to contemplate it as his captain approached, mud all over his armour and blood covering his face. He looked rather dishevelled and unkempt, but Draeos would rather have a bedraggled captain than a dead one.

“They’re retreating,” Verath panted, slowing his horse as he neared the general. “Do we follow them?”

Draeos gave a singular nod and Verath kicked the stirrups of his saddle, yelling for the surviving Niva troops to pursue the fleeing soldiers and bring them to their knees.

The general followed after them, hoping to catch up with his captain as he led the troops into the forest, but before he could leave the plains his horse suddenly reared, throwing the unsuspecting elf off his back and bolting through the trees in fright.

Draeos cursed the beast under his breath and struck the ground with his gauntleted fist, pushing himself back to his feet and setting off after the spooked creature.

Before he could breach the line of trees a figure stopped him in his tracks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He tried to focus on it, to determine who it was, but their dark form swayed and flickered as if they weren’t really there at all.

“Who are you?” the elven general demanded, his voice commanding and authoritative. “What do you want?”

The figure didn’t reply, floating towards him with its arms outstretched, and Draeos instantly raised his sword, swinging out at the strange creature when it got too close for comfort. The general jumped out of the way as it regained itself and turned towards him, seemingly moving on a set path.

“Stay away,” Draeos warned. “I will kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first.”

The voice was so sudden and so cold that it knocked Draeos off his guard, the elf stepping back, but too late. The figure lunged and stuck its hand through his chest, the general screaming and his sword falling from his grasp, clattering onto the ground.

The last thing he saw as the shadow removed its hand and disappeared was the singular silver light still hanging in the blackened sky, the pure gleam and glow fading as he slipped into the dark abyss.


	8. The Orb

Milo had never thought of the fabled lights in the sky, not once in his twenty-four years, but on the day that the travelling astronomers came to the village he’d become entranced. Their talk of other worlds and illuminations that shone in the darkness awakened his curiosity and fascinated him in a way that he never thought possible, so much so that upon hearing that the sirens of Lotus Lagoon were in possession of other-worldly knowledge, he’d set out from the safe sanctuary of his village to find them.

He knew that he should be wary, that he probably should have prepared more than a change of clothes and some rations to take with him, but he’d been so eager to learn more and investigate everything he could that his curiosity had drowned out his better judgement.

The land he crossed was perilous, even for the most foolhardy of warriors, but Milo hoped that his innocence of the world would spare him some of its harshness.

Luckily for him it did, and on his third day of travelling, his legs aching and regret beginning to kick in, he finally came across Lotus Lagoon, the water so pure and clear that he could lean over and look straight down into its depths.

“Hello?” he called, his voice echoing around the enclosed space and bouncing off the overhanging trees and rocks that surrounded the lagoon. “Is there anybody here?”

He suddenly felt rather foolish, wondering whether he’d been letting his fascination get away with him and that sirens and stars didn’t exist at all. For all he knew, the wizened old man who’d told him of the lagoon could have been playing an awful trick on him.

Milo took a step back from the bank and heaved a sigh, removing his backpack and throwing it down onto the ground beside him. He sat himself on the grass, bringing his knees up to his chest as he contemplated what he was going to do; he could stay and see if there really were deadly sirens willing to give him the information he sought, or he could go back to the village and feel like a fool for the rest of his life. He didn’t know which was worse.

“What to do? What to do?” he muttered to himself, picking up a lotus flower from the bank and twirling it between his fingers, admiring the white and pink of its petals.

“They are rather pretty, aren’t they?”

Milo was startled out of his thoughts at the sound of the soft voice, looking up to see a woman peering at him over the bank. His eyes went wide, shifting across her pretty face and her gentle smile. She didn’t look like a vicious creature who led men to their deaths, but he couldn’t be too careful. Even the most beautiful of things could be deadly. “Yes,” he breathed, unable to make much of a sound. “They are.”

“The ones here at the lagoon are the prettiest,” the siren told him, reaching out and taking the flower from his slackened grasp. She twirled it between her fingers and put it in her light brown hair, looking up at the strange man on the shore. “What brings you here, mortal man?” she asked, tilting her head.

“The… the stars,” Milo stuttered, her entrancing beauty stealing his attention and his thoughts.

The siren giggled, the melodic sound making the man smile, and as his eyes finally left her he noticed that more of the alluring creatures were beginning to arrive, their heads poking out of the surface of the water to look at him. Each one of them had a captivating beauty, sweet and delicate, and far too enticing as far as Milo was concerned.

“Sisters,” the siren said, turning to her kin, “this man wants to know about the stars.”

“Then learn about the stars he shall.”

Every set of eyes turned to the rock by the cliffs, a siren perched on the flat stone, combing her fingers through her long red hair.

Milo’s breath hitched in his throat and he scrambled to his feet in an instant, his eyes unblinking and his thoughts screeching to a halt. “I… uh… I…”

The red-haired siren waved her hand for the others to leave, ignoring the grumbles she got as they obediently swam away, and gestured for Milo to near her. “Do not fear, man of the land, I will not harm you.” When he didn’t move she heaved a sigh, and titled her head in fascination. Usually the men who visited their shores simply wished for a glimpse of their beauty, and upon being called they obeyed, but this man was different; he wasn’t there to admire them, he was there to learn from them. “What is your name?” she inquired, hoping that some gentle conversation would relax him.

“Milo,” he replied, trying to steady his breathing and form a coherent response. “My name is Milo.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Milo,” the siren said. “My name is Astrida. I am the queen of Lotus Lagoon. Now, what is this you say about the stars?”

Milo suddenly felt the need to bow, the knowledge that he was in the presence of a queen bending his back. “A few weeks ago, a group of travelling astronomers visited my village. They told me that our sky is not real, and that there are lights and other worlds up there, but we can’t see them. Is that true? Are there really things up there?”

Astrida nodded and smiled brightly, her delicate features lighting up as she jumped down onto the bank and approached the nervous man. “I can tell you many great things,” she told him, “of things that you couldn’t even begin to imagine, but you must do something in return.”

“Yes?” Milo was beginning to grow cautious, wondering what the woman was going to suggest.

“You must sacrifice yourself to me.”

“I’ll have to die?” Milo squeaked, taking a few precautionary steps back, not that he’d be able to outrun her or fight her off if she became malicious. Sirens always had been quick, even in the frightening tales.

Astrida laughed and shook her head. “No, sweet Milo, you will not die, but you will be bound to me. You will become my servant, destined to serve and obey me from now until the moment you die, and never to leave these shores.”

Milo thought on it for a moment; was it worth sacrificing the rest of his life just to learn about the sky? Or should he leave now and never look upon this beautiful place again? _Do it,_ he told himself. It wasn’t as if the people of his hometown would believe him if he told them he’d spoken to sirens and talked of the stars anyway. If anything he’d just be deemed mad, so he thought it best to at least know the truth about the world he lived in and remain bound to the shores of Lotus Lagoon for the rest of his life than face the mockery and shame back at home. “I’ll do it. Tell me all you know.”

“Do you know what obsidian glass is?” Astrida asked.

“Yes,” Milo replied. “It’s a dark glass made by volcanoes.”

“Well, what would you say if I told you that our world exists inside a great orb made from obsidian glass?”

“I would tell you that that’s impossible.”

Astrida grinned, her smile stretching from one pointed ear to the other. “Not impossible, dear Milo, but very possible indeed. For we do live inside a sphere of obsidian glass. There are stars out there, and planets, and solar systems, and nebulas, but we will never reach them. At least not from inside the Orb.”


End file.
